pillango

edit: ah fuck. i'll fix the pictures later.

edit edti: ok. there.



havana. oh la habana.

this country is the rustic bohemian rotten beauty of the world i've seen.



it is miss havisham's rotting house, the melted icing of her wedding cake.



there is something very alive in the vivid sexual city of havana. it is in the pressed suit of the old man with a walking stick in one hand and a cigar in the other.



the slight sway of the hips of the chicita barely out of grade school whispers it.



the besos of the dark men who want nothing but a catcall to the 3 blondes and the burnette sing it.

the faded colonial buildings swell with it and with clothes strings pregnant with more vibrant.



and hemingway might have sat here but he's long dead and many unsung dark figures replace the pasty void he left.

there is sex in your agressive pursuit and firm belief that we are rich and that we can save you.

but you dance, oh you dance...

you sway when an ignorant foreigner dances up to you so her friend can take a picture of your mullett and your mustache. you deserve your salsa. you paid your 10 pesos, like the bitch who mocks you.

you flcok when i give away my gum and i almost tear my insides when your 'thank yous' outnumber the 'gracias'.

i can feel this city beating. i feel it vibrate and shake and fall and rot and dance to a different (sex raw) rhythm. you breathe and there is salt in your air. it makes my skin glow and i die with your candy coloured buildings.



there is so much beauty here. you overwhelm and i am not afraid to taste you, to feel you.



i hope your son will grow big on the milk i bought you and i hope you glisten like the ocean at noon.


danca havana, move and be moved. i will never understand but i will never forget.

gracias. i will say it.

oh la habana.